


you make me smile

by Kalika999 (kalika_999), winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Brock is grumpy, Crushes, Jack is not, M/M, Smile, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/Kalika999, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Forced team bonding yields unexpected results with a certain stone-faced second in command.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	you make me smile

**Author's Note:**

> Beautiful art (and wonderful betaing) done by the incredible Kalika999! ❤️
> 
> And also thank you @kalika999 for lending me Agent Johnson, he was a treat to use 💕
> 
> For RumRollins Week, Day One: Shield

There were several different theories circulating around the Strike team about where Jack Rollins came from. Some insisted he wasn’t actually human, that he was a robot like Agent Coulson; others insisted that no, he was a private op who had his personality erased with his fingerprints. (Brock wasn’t sure where the rumor that Rollins’ fingerprints had been burned off had come from but he had to admit he was curious if there was any truth to it.) There were other, more far fetched ideas (“Guy’s a fuckin’ alien… Michaels says he doesn’t even piss through a whole op…”) but Brock tried to maintain some level of professionalism around his stern faced second in command.

Brock actually had the guy’s file, assuming it was real, and his curiosity had been stoked enough to actually open it up. Typically Brock liked to see his men’s actions do the talking, if they were on his team they were obviously up to par and as commander his job was to maintain it. Jack Rollins was ex special ops, hand picked by Fury himself, which meant that the guy had something going for him even if it wasn’t his incredible people skills (note the sarcasm). 

The guy’s facial expression hadn’t shifted in the slightest the entire two and a half weeks he’d been assigned onto Strike Alpha. Not when the intern tripped over his own feet and covered himself in scalding coffee, not when Daley, the moron, set off a smoke grenade in the conference room trying to show off for a lab tech far out of his league, and not even when Brock told him he was doing a damn good job. The last thing bothered him most. Brock didn’t pass out praise to just anyone and it had nothing to do with how devilishly handsome Jack looked in the navy blue uniform or all suited up on a mission. 

Jack Rollins was prompt and he barked commands that people listened to. He always had Brock’s six and Brock trusted him, actually trusted him. So Brock acknowledging him as a good second should have earned him more than stiff nod. A handshake would have been agreeable, a pat on the shoulder even better. But Brock got a nod; no more but no less. 

His army cut had grown out a bit, defeating many robot rumors, but Jack kept it slicked back in a way that was probably tactical but looked too damn good, in Brock’s professional (and somewhat not-exactly-professional) opinion. 

Brock was still sulking about Jack’s less than desirable reaction to praise when he got the email. Team bonding activities was the sort of Shield bullshit that made Brock want to walk out and never look back. His team was solid in the field and that was plenty of time spent together. He didn’t need to socialize outside of work and definitely not at some lame interactive show Shield had bought out. 

If Brock could have refused to go he would have, but Agent Hill, that know it all bitch, had sent him an email attached reminding him it was mandatory in all capital letters. 

So that’s how Brock wound up crowded in a lobby with coworkers he never needed to see in their street clothes, trying to disappear while also wrangling his team. Coulson seemed far too interested in the event, acting like a real fuckin’ boy for once — though Fury was nowhere to be seen (the lucky son of a bitch). 

It seemed like it was meant for children by the dopey cartoons of the wall and Brock’s mood soured further when Barton came around passing out paper crowns. “You gotta Rumlow,” he said with a toothy grin when he caught sight of the way Brock glared at the offending strip of cardboard. 

“We ain’t all circus acts,” Brock groused back and Clint gave him the finger before continuing his Coulson assigned task, the little kiss ass. 

Seeing Jack in jeans was almost as shocking as seeing the Widow in a graphic tee, Brock realized as his gaze crept over to his second. A well fitted blue tee and jeans, complete with sneakers made him seem almost average, in that unreasonable attractive way. 

Widow also looked great in her street clothes but if looks could kill, Brock would be staying out of her eyeline. She seemed, if possible, even less enthused about being here. 

“We don’t actually have to wear these right?” Johnson protested holding the offending piece of cardboard between his index and middle finger with a frown of contempt. Brock felt for him, but as the team commander he was supposed to be keeping up morale. “Tell me I don’t have to put this stupid thing on my head.”

“You have to.” Jack said gravely, assessing his list before giving Brock a firm nod. “We’re set.”

“It’s not a mission, bud.” Brock went so far as to pat Jack’s arm. “You can relax.”

“I am relaxed.” Jack folded the list and put it in his pocket before he carefully bent the crown into its proper shape and slipped the cardboard into the slot. “I am very excited.”

Brock watched him set the crown on top of his head and was so disheartened by the fact he too would have to follow suit and wear the ridiculous prop, he couldn’t even laugh. Thankfully it wasn’t just Strike team Alpha looking like they’d rather be tortured than go through such an ordeal. 

They were seated at long banquet style tables, Brock stuck beside Jack and the aisle which honestly didn’t seem too bad. Below the rows and rows of seats there was a stage area, covered in sand with banners of color placed beneath different sitting areas. 

The lights went down and the meal was served while the announcer went through some dramatic opening about the story about to unfold, blah blah blah. Brock was immediately distracted by the massive platter set before him, complete with an entire half of a chicken, a mound of toast potatoes and veggies, a hunk of bread and a cookie. 

“Did ya get a fork or something?” Brock muttered looking down the table. 

He got somber head shakes as grown men began to pick at their food like they were toddlers or cavemen. From there it got no better but thankfully no worse. The show below them had horses which was neat, knights which was lame because Brock wasn’t a goddamn child, and a storyline he wasn’t following because he was starving but unwilling to eat his food like an animal so carefully picking apart his food to edible chunks was a major distraction. 

It wasn’t until halfway through the event he noticed Jack clapping along with half of the audience. But it wasn’t the sort of polite, lacksidasial clapping Brock would have expected. 

No, Jack was clapping. 

His stern expression had melted toward something far more focused but not in the way he focused on a target in the field but with a keen fascination and interest. Brock would have laughed if he wasn’t so caught off guard and his attention was taken completely from the scenes below him and on his second in command.

Jack engaged enthusiastically with the show. He clapped, he cheered and he even booed when he was supposed to. It was a side of Jack that Brock would never have thought could exist. He was animated, giddy and genuinely happy. 

When it was over and the lights came up Brock wasn’t sure what to say but Jack beat him to it. He was smiling which should have been terrifying but it was too charming to think any less of. He had nice teeth, Brock noticed fondly. And lips that seemed pretty fucking kissable, should that ever become a possibility. Brock found himself smiling back, mirroring the toothy grin of a man who had truly had fun. 

“That was excellent,” Jack said looking pleased. “Excellent.”

“Yeah,” Brock murmured realizing that his appreciation of Jack was careening towards crush territory. He was powerless to stop if, even if he wanted too (which he most certainly didn’t). “Excellent.”

Brock figured that as long as he was with Jack, these bonding activities weren’t so bad.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [RumRollins Week 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565687) by [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999), [winter_angst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst)


End file.
